On Wings of Hope
by fallenjedipadawan
Summary: For the Summer 2011 Prompts in addition to being the companion to My piece Futility.    It's the smallest things that bring us hope.


**a/n: Finally a moment to write. Written for Castaway's summer prompt Hot Air Balloon and as a companion to my story from last year Futility. I'd recommend reading that one first so this one makes me sense. As always reviews are love.**

**Disclaimer: Strangely I still don't own Castaways.**

**On Wings of Hope**

The rain had long since dried up, gone as if it had never existed, leaving the ground brown and cracked. The few plants that had burst forth in response to the rain had soon withered and dead in the blistering heat, the stalks breaking at the slightest touch, and what had once been a vibrant colored head now floated away, a speak of brown in the hot wind. Yet people continued to live their lives seemingly unaware of this change; women still waited for murky water, boys still laughed over a tattered soccer ball, and the men dutifully talked to the other men as they watched their daughters pull plastic combs through each others' lice-infested hair.

And as the memory of the rain faded so had the memory of a single blonde boy crouched in front of his makeshift home sobbing at the futility of it all. While nothing had changed: there was still too little food for too many people, every day young children died before having a chance at a future, and families lived in shelters made of scraps, with the sun, even a scorching one, came the opportunity for a better tomorrow.

Ben knew that he was one of few who would leave the camp in the near future, whispers of an angel from a time long ago on a storm tossed ocean had begun to creep into the back of his mind. These people could possibly spend years in the refugee camp, never receiving the assistance that people from other countries could provide at the sacrifice of several of their designer coffees. But this was their life now, they had formed relationships with those in hovels near them, their children had never known anything else, and the face that they were still alive was enough for many of them.

"Ben. Ben." The name sounded strange in the boy's voice, a word from a different culture, a culture where the name was like a foreign candy in the peoples' mouths. A young boy, his dark hair cut close to his head to try and prevent lice approached the teen. "Ben."

Ben looked up as the boy neared him, pulling hands that were red and raw from the cleaning chemicals in a plastic tub. "Yes?" He questioned as he wrung a thin t-shirt out, the dirty water merrily splashing as it rejoined the liquid below.

"Come play." The boy beamed as he pulled forth a shiny black and white ball from his aged backpack. "We got a new ball. Someone in America sent it to us."

"I-" Ben said as he glanced over his shoulder towards a woman sitting in the shade provided by her dwelling. Ever since the woman had donated her meal to him the teen had done everything possible to help her, knowing that such a meal was a huge sacrifice on her part. Her laundry consisting of only several items along with her husband's was now drying in the hot sun but he knew that there were more ways he could help her than something as simple as washing her clothes.

She squinted disapprovingly at him as he started to excuse himself from the impromptu soccer matches. "Go, boy. If the children want you, the children should have you. You've done more than enough to help me." The woman waved a hand to shoo the two away as if they were a pair of pesky horse-flies.

The young boy shouted in delight and grabbed hold of the teen's hand, pulling a laughing Ben towards the outskirts of the camp.

_I've been pressed ganged into a soccer match. _Ben explained as a thin black dog inspected the two from across a gulley through which ran fresh sewage.

_Well then I'd best find myself a good seat to watch. The other team will be sure to want a mascot to celebrate their victory with. _Ned replied as he began picking his way towards the field that served for all the boys' soccer matches.

_ You're just jealous that you can't play because you wouldn't know how to handle all four legs plus the ball._

_ I could handle all four legs plus the ball better than you could handle your two legs without the ball._

The teen simply shook his head at his friend's teasing as the boy chattered on and on about the new ball he had received.

Ben had to admit he felt a little silly each time he joined the children for a game of soccer, be it with one of the few soccer balls or the more common use of anything that could serve as a ball. He appeared to be old enough that he would nearly be considered a man in this society and men no longer played games with the children; if they found themselves involved in a game of soccer it was almost strictly with people of the same age. But during his life he found that soccer was one of the few things that brought people together despite age, race, or social status. Why else would the children of a refugee camp be so eager to invite a boy who was several years older, of a different ethnicity, and who had never explained where he come from to play a game of soccer with them?

The other boys greeted Ben with as much enthusiasm as the one who had initially come for him, perhaps excited by the prospect of a new ball or perhaps by having Ben consent to join the game. When it came to choosing teams the boys squabbled over which team the blonde would play on until finally Ben forced them into the complicated version of rock-paper-scissors the children had developed. He never quite understood why it caused such conflict deciding which team he played on, he had played soccer long enough that he was better at it than most of the boys, but he figured it was the novelty of having someone different on their team.

The soccer game, once teams had eventually been settled, would have made any trained soccer player cringe. But that wasn't what mattered, not the lack of form or the blatant ignoring of set up rules, what mattered was the sun warming the boys, and the laugher filling the air, and the sheer pleasure of being together with a new possession.

Ben kicked the ball towards one of the other boys and stepped back, lacing his hands behind his head in an attempt to catch his breath.

Ned surveyed this motion and casually said. _Getting a little old? Maybe I can get someone to bring you a walker and some oxygen._

_Not to shabby for a few hundred years, eh? Could give a forty year old David Beckham a run for his money._ After a second he pulled the t-shirt he wore, fingers through one of the holes that littered the cloth, over his head, revealing the sharp contrast of his ribs and the heaving of chest; an image reflected in each of the others playing the game, a body reminiscent of rarely receiving a full meal. He turned his head towards the mountains, looking for his companion so he could leave the article of clothing in the animals care. As he looked towards the mountains something high in the air caught his eye. A small dot of color high above the distant peaks, bright against the light blue sky.

A hot-air balloon?

With several more seconds of inspection Ben realized that his initial guess had been right. It was strange to see, a reminder that not everyone lived in the poverty of the refugee camp, that across the mountain range there was a thriving city, and tourists enjoyed activities such as hot air-ballooning. A small smile tugged at his lips as he imagined the guide directing the tourists' attention away from the hideous, sprawling sore on the earth that was the camp and towards more pleasant sights.

"Ben!" One of the boys called, drawing his attention back to the game, the balloon no longer becoming an object of his attention.

As he returned to the game he briefly thought about the balloon again. It was something nice to look at, a sign that the world wasn't all pain, the same as a game of soccer with friends, or sharing a meal with someone who was willing to open their life to you. Each simple, each taken for granted and easily forgotten, and each carrying with it, on wings of hope that spoke of a better life, a breeze that lifted the heart and refreshed the soul.

Because despite the people who were starving to death only feet away, the fact that he would soon leave and the people would seemingly be no better for his arrival, and the apparent futility of attempting to help the people it was nice to know that the world was still filled with the lovely little things.


End file.
